Reconstruction
by gunshou
Summary: Rebuilding takes both patience and compromise. Written for LJ's FFEX 2009: "Ashe being queenly" Ashe /Balthier , Basch, Penelo


**Prompt request:** FFXII, Ashe, post-game. Can have hints of her with Rasler, Vaan, Balthier, Vossler, Basch... (whatever the maker wants), but most of all I just want to see her being queenly. Preferably musing on her queenliness.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Ashe (/Balthier), Basch, Penelo  
**Feedback:** Yes, please. *is anxious*  
**Spoilers:** For the end of FFXII, obviously, but no dramatic revelations. Rosebud is a sled.  
**Notes:** Written for LJ's Final Fantasy Exchange, this was a bear of a story to struggle through. I've never actually written Ashe before, and I don't like her much. I'm sorry it just ends, I kind of ran out of steam at the deadline. I made up all the "excerpts", BTW.

* * *

[FOUNDATION]

_Tradition decreed that descendants of the Dynast-King preserve the purity of their bloodline, therefore while members of the Royal family were not entirely sequestered within the palace, neither did they mingle with the common folk of the realm. Raminas B'Nargin spread his seed among four wives chosen from among the nobility of the two states laying claim to the blood of Raithwall; all four could trace their lineage, betimes by paths convoluted, to the royal line established during the foundation of House Galtea. Through these unions, ten recognized children of the bloodline were born to Raminas, although given the king's propensity for dalliance outside his formalized unions, genealogists forebear to presume which of the ten were truly born of the royal wives. For this reason, the Dusk Shard -- a piece of deifacted nethicite cut from the legendary Sun-Cryst by Raithwall himself -- was carefully hidden in the treasury of the Royal Palace of Rabanastre. This mist-imbued gem was said to glow in the presence of the Dynast-King's true descendants, making it invaluable for proving the right of blood to rule Dalmasa. Only those with enough royal blood to cause the stone to glow could claim the Crown of B'Nargin._

_Unfortunately for Raminas' only surviving child, Ashelia, the stone was lost before a public demonstration of her blood right could be arranged._  
-- excerpted from The Fall of Galtea, publ. 842 O.V.

Ashe had thought, somehow, that it would be easy to rebuild her kingdom.

Chase the Empire out of her lands, reclaim sovereignty, take the throne, and Dalmasca would be restored to her former glory. Saving all Ivalice from the threat of power-mad gods and misguided leaders had been the more daunting task, and she'd accomplished that despite the forces arrayed against her. Surely fulfilling her birthright as Queen could not possibly be as difficult as all they had done in the name of freeing Dalmasca? And yet, she had never felt so weary on the road, a long night's watch ahead of her and nursing bruises and muscle strain, as she did sitting on B'Nargin's ancient and cushioned throne.

Always, she had been a child of action, preferring riding and wrestling with her brothers to embroidery and lessons. The youngest child and only girl, she'd been indulged shamelessly, and only suffered the indignities of decorum a few times a year for formal banquets and rituals that required her presence. She had been terribly spoiled, she now knew. If her father had any inkling she was destined to rule Dalmasca, he would not have looked the other way, hiding a smile, while she mock-dueled Lieutenant Ronsenburg through the outdoor walkways of the Palace, her small fists slapping against the knight's open palms. She would not have been allowed to scale the trees in the royal gardens, tossing the plumpest dates to Commander Azelas before sliding down the trunk in a blur of skinned fingers and ripped trousers borrowed from her next-eldest brother. Her other brothers would never have been permitted to teach her chocobo-riding tricks, or where best to knee a man, or how to deftly turn her wrist to keep a blade from catching in a fiend's ribs on the downstroke.

No, she would have been corralled early and often into elaborate dresses, forced to sit with knees together and hands placed just so in her lap, ankles delicately crossed beneath her chair. She would have learned the arts of pleasant conversation and gentle diplomacy rather then how to curse in four languages. She _did _learn these things -- as a princess, she must -- but had never needed to afford them her utmost attention. Some part of her mind could wander beyond the rooms where erudite tutors drilled her in complicated genealogies and histories that never sounded as exciting as the cries that rose from Muthru Bazaar each Firstday, when the ships came in from all over Ivalice to ply their varied wares.

Truly, if Raminas had thought his energetic, impetuous daughter would one day be more than simply a vessel to unify the Dynast-King's bloodlines, Ashe would have grown up much differently. Perhaps if she had, she would have been better prepared for the grueling task ahead of her.

Basch tried to warn her, before he left Rabanastre for his new life as a dead man. With his freshly shorn hair lending an uncharacteristic severity to the lines of his face, hollowed anew by sorrow instead of privation, he'd stood in the armor of her father's killer before assembled nobles of three nations and officially swore along with Larsa that she was indeed the Princess. He claimed to have been tracking her all along in her guise of Resistance leader Amalia, and to have seen, along with two now-deceased Magisters, the Dawn Shard glow in her hand. Reports from Archades were produced that substantiated his words, the official seal of the Ninth Bureau inked over cramped writing that bore no resemblance to Basch's untidy scrawl. He carefully signed the name Gabranth to an affidavit stating that Captain Vossler Azelas had some months prior revealed her true identity before dying heroically in service to Dalmasca. That phrasing had been his only request of her in the aftermath of Bahamut's fall, and despite the way her gut clenched with pain and anger -- and grief, damn it -- she granted Vossler posthumous absolution because she could give Basch nothing else. Nothing that he would accept, anyway, and she was too furious with him for deserting her to dwell on what she might owe him.

"My presence at your side would hinder you," he'd said quietly, his voice strangely intonated as he struggled to mimic the Archadian accent. "Basch fon Ronsenburg is a traitor, disgraced and hated, and would be a less a shield to defend you than a canker seeping slow poison among those whose trust you must gain. Without the Shard you must work twice as hard to prove yourself, and need nothing that would cast doubt upon your ability to rule with honor and strength."

The sound of her own teeth grinding had become so familiar in the last several months that she barely noticed it now. The fact that he spoke truth didn't prevent her palm from itching to connect again with his cheek. This time, she held herself back, and struck instead with words bitten off hard like shots pinging against steel armor.

"I thank you, _Magister_, for your sage advice. I can only hope you ll gift your new lord with insights as wise, and the Empire will surely flourish."

Nothing cracked the stoic mask of his expression; the reforged Gabranth needed no helm to shield his face from revealing too much. Only later did Ashe admit his lack of response infuriated her because Vossler would have dropped his gaze and allowed his lip to curl back over teeth that grit as often as her own. Later still, she wondered if Vossler would have offered her such honesty at his own expense. Likely the man who had sold her to the Empire to preserve Dalmasca would also have exiled himself for his country's benefit.

Neither of her former Knights would count the cost to her, personally, as worth mentioning. She could only agree -- a queen had little time for companions whose political value could not be readily and ostentatiously measured.

* * *

[MISCALCULATION]

_The reconstruction of Dalmasca after the Archadian War was simplified by the country's continuing role as a gateway between the Valendian, Ordalian, and Kerwonese continents. A major trading center throughout its history, Dalmasca gained prominence as a key territory despite its desert climate. Its strategic value did not lessen after the armistice between the empires of Rozarria and Archadia; to the contrary, Dalmasca's Royal City of Rabanastre provided a neutral meeting ground for representatives of the Imperial nations during the careful negotiations that followed the final ceasefire. The Marquis Halim Ondore IV noted in his journals that the sight of the shattered Bahamut only a few miles beyond the city's paling walls served as a chilling reminder of the price of terrible ambition. Certainly the influx of visitors to the city, both functionaries of various governments involved in the treaties and tourists who wished to gaze upon the ruined sky-fortress, boosted Rabanastre's post-war economy. That plus reparations granted by the Archadian Empire allowed the monetary cost of rebuilding Dalmasca to remain reasonable, and the various merchant guilds (excepting Weaponry and Protectives) even reported a profit for the first time in several years._  
-- excerpted from 700 Years of Dynast, publ. 751 O.V.

Rasler had spoken once of the pleasant tedium of ruling a country like Dalmasca, where diverse cultures flowed together rather than clashing and no one dared disrupt the trade routes between east and west, north and south. He lay on his back atop the silk dressings of their bed, idly twining his fingers around a lock of her hair while she listened to his heartbeat and the low rumble his voice made in his chest. He sounded wistful, assuring her he longed for such an uncomplicated reign after the years of civil war in Nabradia. She had felt absurdly proud of her country, as though she could claim credit for such gentle harmony of life.

After four months of calculated outrage, chill apologies, delicate maneuvering, and selective ignorance, Ashe felt almost grateful her husband's placid daydream would never be marred by the reality of Dalmasan leadership. No wonder her father had looked so weary in his few private moments. Battling malboros in the sewers was easier than steering her country back to prosperity -- which thought reminded her to post a bill for Clan Centurio to clean up a problematical section of the Waterway. Every time Ashe turned around, another situation presented itself for her attention; she began to long for her solitary evening meal -- not because hunger especially troubled her, but because she gained a few moments of leisure while she supped and could betimes drag out the process with slow, careful bites. She learned to cloak her fits of temper with innocuous activities and layers of decorous subterfuge. An especially difficult two weeks had occasioned the inventory sampling of whatever vintages survived the Imperial occupation; she missed the days when she could share a drink or several with her companions in a shadowy corner table at the Cloudbourne or Sandsea.

Sequestered as a child, exiled as a young woman, her anonymity both irritated and freed her. Now all the realm knew her face well, and she had to steal quiet moments of seclusion like a sky pirate planning a difficult heist. The irony failed to amuse.

Mindful of the plight of her people, Ashe first decreed the residents of Lowtown to be moved into those houses in Rabanastre-proper abandoned when Larsa ordered all Archadian presence withdrawn. Posted signs announced the imminent closing of the underground for renovations. She retired to bed that night satisfied with herself for improving the lives of the most downtrodden of her subjects, and woke the next day to riots. Stunned, she responded too late with orders for suppression; three people died and another eight needed hospitalization before her borrowed Bhujerban troops quelled the violence. Two days later, she received Penelo in the informal parlor, dismissed her attendants, and asked frankly what in all the hells happened.

Penelo's sunny disposition dimmed with the weight of Ashe's icy regard; she fidgeted with the sling on her arm and plucked invisible lint off her best skirt. Finally, she shrugged her good shoulder and offered bluntness.

"You tried to meddle in how people live their lives. Nobody likes that, Ashe. You never did, and isn't that why we fought the Occuria?"

"You call it meddling? You and Vaan told me how miserable life is in Lowtown; I tried to change that. And the people despise my efforts?" She struggled to control her rising tone, although Penelo waited without flinching for her Queen's anger to spend itself.

"Ashe, you can't just order people to pick up and move. Well, you can, but they aren't going to go happily. Let me say it this way: after years of the Empire forcing the poor to live underground, you're forcing them to abandon the homes and businesses they built there."

"For better ones!"

"Better to give them a choice. Can't you see that?"

A meaningless choice, Ashe thought, between cramped destitution and the hope of a better life. Penelo soon excused herself to return to the Aerodome; a small mob had broken through there and the Strahl suffered minor damage that Vaan was feverishly trying to repair. Before she left, Ashe called one of her servants to escort the dancer to a medic to see about her arm. Penelo gently refused the help, citing her own faculty with white magic if she wanted advanced healing.

The Queen insisted; Penelo capitulated with a quiet sigh.

* * *

[RECONSTRUCTION]

_AMANTINA: Be thou a pirate lord of the skies? Then I beg of thee, steal me away, that I may be free to seek my inheritance!  
BATARO (lazily): And what might a princess offer such as I, who cares naught for lands and titles?  
AMANTINA: Thy nature reveals itself by thy response. A treasure then, the riches of the Dynast-King's horde. Does that tempt thy stone heart?  
BATARO: A heart of stone, I? Nay, fine lady, 'tis not my heart that lies stiff and unmovable upon hearing thee beg so prettily for my assistance. Treasures indeed thou offers, and treasure I'll have, be it in colors of warm gold or pale pearl.  
AMANTINA: Spoken as a sky-pirate.  
BATARO: But of course. How then should I respond to such overtures?  
AMANTINA: I need only thy services -  
BATARO: And thou mayst have them for all the long night.  
AMANTINA: A ride in thy ship -  
BATARO: As smooth a ride as ever thy ladyship could want.  
AMANTINA: Thou damnable man!  
BATARO: Why dost thou expect otherwise? 'Tis, after all, the peril of tangling words with the lead. Fear not for thy honor, fair princess. I shall with chaste panache abscond with thy royal presence to seek greater riches abroad. Shall we be off?_  
-- excerpted from _A Pirate's Bounty_, publ. 789 O.V.

Ashelia had carried greater weights than a mithril crown upon her brow, but few of them with such weary dignity. Lines had etched themselves at the corners of her soft mouth and between her grey eyes; her maids applied creams that rejuvenated her skin during the desert's cold nights and kept her from looking older than her scant three decades. Passing time and growing confidence had worn away the Queen's sharper edges like sand endlessly eroding the Yensa's cliffs. She had made mistakes early in her reign; what passed for leadership style among a ragtag group of rebels had crippled her when set against the needs of a nation. Slowly, Ashe began to understand that while people cried for change under the yoke of repression, they didn't want simply a substitution of tyrants. She discovered truth in Penelo's words: choice, not strength, beget growth. In time, her white-knuckled grip on the reins of her kingdom relaxed into a firm and gentle hand.

No longer did she have to thieve time in small bursts of desperate solitude. She oft ended her days with leisurely strolls in the palace gardens, occasionally standing tiptoe on a decorative bench to reach the heavy dates hanging from the lower branches of trees. The soft chatter of her guards, trailing her under the high arches of the royal walkways, faded into a background hum indistinguishable from the low noise of the city as it bustled on towards evening. Occasional cries from street vendors who expanded into the Northern Quarter could be heard above the gentle susurrus of irrigation fountains. Playful youths set off rolls of firecrackers not far away; the guards twitched briefly in alarm before settling back with rueful smiles. Music played somewhere in either the palace or a nearby building; Ashe found herself humming the popular tune while she ate a piece of sticky fruit.

She climbed to a private balcony that overlooked the piazza and rested her beringed hands on the high rail while the bells of the Cathedral tolled the evening devotion. Her guards bowed and departed: her standing orders regarding high places with access to the open skies. A deep breath brought the arid air, sharp with spices, into her lungs. Ashe let it out slowly, satisfied with the lassitude that came at the end of a long day.

"Now that sounded like a well-earned sigh of relief, Majesty. Did something particularly strenuous today, hmmm?"

She smiled and tilted her head to the side, warmth seeping through her despite the chill breeze at this height. "Reviewed a committee proposal for expanding development into the Westersand, complete with estimates regarding restructuring the paling to encompass the new growth and potential effects on the population growth of the cactoids there. Lunch with an Undersecretary to the Gran Kiltias, who praised the lovely architecture of the new temple of the Church of Glabados near Nalbina and bid me visit. A tour of the new brewing facilities on Upper Leamonde Road that left me smelling not disagreeably of beer until I showered after my late afternoon sword practice with Captain Piett in the salle. Then an audition with the musicians for next month's ten-year victory celebration, followed by correspondence -- which I've not yet sent, if you wish to add salutations to Basch and Larsa -- and a brief after-dinner visit with Monid, who successfully completed a hunt for me in Giza."

"A busy day indeed," drawled her visitor, stepping out of the shadows to join her by the railing.

"And you, Balthier? Are you in town long or just during maintenance on the Strahl?"

He waved an elegant hand, multicolored rings flashing in the soft glow of the city lights. A sparkle of manufacted nethicite glittered from a setting in an otherwise plain band, nearly hidden among the gaudier jewelry. "Fran wanted to spend some time visiting Mrjn -- you know she's finally convinced Jote that spending a single year of her long life healing cactite scratches in a village on the Nebra will make her better appreciate the Wood when she returns. I've no doubt that's true, given the lack of stimulating conversation in that town. Still, good for her, I say, asserting her independence. I've never liked the Viera method of chaining their people to the trees. True wild things fly free; wouldn't you agree, Majesty?"

"Indeed, although not all creatures are fully unhappy in captivity." Ashe smiled and laid her hand over his, stroking the calluses working with machines had created between his finger and thumb. "Especially if they can be allowed access to the skies, even knowing that all too soon they must return to their sanctuaries."

"Not envious of the simple life of a sky-pirate, busy Queen that you are?"

"Yes." Ashe turned from him to look out at Rabanastre, the city's pulse a match for her own. "But I am comfortable in this nest I have built."

Balthier slipped his hand out from under hers and slid his arm around her shoulders. He curled his lithe body around her smaller frame, lips brushing the curve of her neck left exposed by her gown. "You no longer need to be kidnapped, then? A pity. Quite an adventure we had the last time."

"The last time when the Strahl's skystone fractured over the Jagd Naldoa and we had to hail a passing fishing vessel to get back to Balfonheim? Or the time before when a mu made off with our breakfast and you chased it halfway 'round the Feywood?"

"Adventures, I say. Were you not entertained that time?"

"Or when you miscalculated how long the winter storms would delay travel from Rozarria and we tarried in Ambervale with Al-Cid and his brother Al-Akar? Actually, that was quite a lovely trip, now that I recall."

His face twisted into an aggreived expression; she lay her head back on his shoulder, mirth crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Yes," he muttered, "well. I would understand if you prefer to stay in your silk-lined nest after all that. Besides, you clearly have much work to do."

"It sustains itself now; the hard part is done. Stay here with me for a time, Balthier. Let me show you how the city has changed since your last visit."

"I hope not too much," he replied, the aristocratic lilt in his voice lending a teasing note to his words. "She's a fine city, Rabanastre. A jewel in Dalmasca's crown; lovely bones, architecturally speaking."

"Mmm. A few old, unsafe places needed demolition. The landscape fares much better for it."

"I'd like the tour. I should get back to Fran tomorrow, though. No telling what she'll get up to on her own."

Ashe found, somehow, that it was easy enough to convince him to stay longer. A queen had but to issue orders, and all the world fell into place as she pleased, with nary an effort on her part.


End file.
